


sweet music playing in the dark

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Blind Character, Daniel & Simon (Detroit: Become Human) are Twins, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: Blind since birth, Simon's world is one of sounds and scents amidst the darkness. A chance encounter with a budding artist one morning becomes a collision of colours and music and perhaps the beginning of something more.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	sweet music playing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 of SiMarkus week 2020, prompt: "Music"

The weather is just on the sharper side of crisp, but that’s to be expected as Detroit slides closer and closer to Winter, leaving Autumn behind. Simon’s not too fond of Winter unless it’s spent indoors; the snow is hazardous to sighted people let alone blind people like him wielding a cane. At least there’s still a month left of mild weather and soft sun and crunchy leaves. 

His feet tread the familiar route through Greektown, the brickwork beneath his shoes making satisfying tapping noises against his cane and there’s a pep in his step as he heads to the bus stop. It’s early enough in the morning the area isn’t crowded, and the pastries haven’t sold out at Essie’s yet meaning he’s managed to secure freshly baked  _ chocolat au pain _ and croissants for him and Danny. 

Carefully stepping towards the side of the main thoroughfare, he fishes out his phone and sends a quick audio message to his twin, letting him know he’s on his way back with breakfast. There’s about five minutes until his bus arrives, so Simon continues to the stop at a leisurely pace. 

That is until someone exits the store to his left and barrels straight into him, sending him crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses and scraped palms. There’s the sound of a lot of things scattering, and a pained groan from the other person.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” 

“I wasn’t either.” Simon quips, pawing around for his cane. There’s a beat and he imagines the person’s horrified expression purely for his amusement.

“Oh  _ fuck _ I’m- oh my god! Oh shit- here um-!” The man stutters through his cursing, and Simon’s cane is pressed into his palm. Hands grip his arm for a moment before they’re hastily withdrawn. “Um, I’m going to help you up is that alright?”

Ah, consent- that’s a rare one. Simon’s had more than his fair share of people trying to manhandle him out of misplaced helpfulness.

“Alright.” He nods and the hands return, a firm grip around his arm as he’s gently pulled back upright. 

“Oh no, your pastries!” The man remarks forlornly and he sounds genuinely distressed enough Simon’s lips quirk up into a smile. Most strangers would be gone by now. “Are they from Essie’s? I’ll replace them, I’m so sorry.”

“Are we at-” Simon pauses, trying to place himself. “Bellini’s?”

“Yeah, I just picked up an order for my dad and I.” Sounds of things being scraped up and put into something that rustles- a bag, not plastic but paper. 

“An artist?”

“My dad is. I’m trying to be.” He can hear a smile in the man’s voice and he finds himself smiling softly too. “Um, so, Essie’s? It’s the least I can do for you.”

“Okay.” Simon agrees because either he takes the bus now and returns home empty-handed, or misses this bus and catches the next one but in possession of pastries. “Lead the way.” He gestures in what he hopes is the general direction of Essie’s and the stranger has the good graces to laugh and gently move his hand to correct him. The smile is still on his face and he hears it in the man’s laugh too.

“I’m Markus, by the way.” 

“I’m Simon.” 

“Oh no you’re bleeding.” There’s concern softening the tone of his voice, and hands again, touch gentler still when he takes Simon’s palm to inspect his scrapes.

“It’s alright, I can wash it at Essie’s. I’m used to bumps and scrapes in my life.”

He knows where they are, his feet tread a familiar path but he rests one hand on Markus’ arm anyway because why not. The man seems kind and genuinely concerned and his voice has such a lovely mellow timbre to it.

“Simon, you’re back!” A familiar voice greets and he can hear the smile drop from her tone. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay Kara.” Simon offers her a reassuring smile, turning his head slightly towards Markus. “Markus bumped into me and I’m afraid the pastries were a casualty.”

“I’ll pay for the new batch, I’m so sorry.” Markus steps to the counter, fumbling with his other hand for what Simon assumes is his wallet. “Oh and is there somewhere he can wash his hands? Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Alright, yes, and yes.” Kara laughs, and there’s the beep of the eftpos machine and the rustling of wax paper bags and the smell of sweet baked goods. “I’ll leave these here. Sink is just around the corner, through the staff door. First Aid kit is in the staff room.”

He can almost feel the worry emanating from Markus, and Simon ducks his head to hide his smile as he’s guided to the sink. Markus even fiddles with the taps for him, making sure the water is warm before Simon washes his grazed palms and it’s just as the water hits his hands that his phone rings with Danny’s ringtone. Out of habit he pats his breastpocket, and winces when his very wet and sore palm soaks his shirt.

“Sorry could you-?” 

“Oh! Yeah, um, excuse me-” Markus plucks the phone out and accepts the call. “Hello, this is Simon’s phone?”

“Where’s Simon!?!” Danny demands loud enough Simon can picture Markus’ wince. 

“Danny I’m fine!” Simon raises his voice. 

“You didn’t get off the bus! I was at the stop and Wilson said you never even boarded!” The worry is thick in Danny’s voice and Simon feels a pang of guilt. The tap switches off and something slightly rough is pressed to his hands; a paper towel. 

“It’s my fault, I accidentally knocked him over when I-”

“You knocked him over?!”

“Danny I’m fine!” Simon tries to soothe, knowing his overprotective twin is pacing anxiously right this very moment. “Just some scrapes, and I’m at Essie’s washing up. I’ll catch the next bus as soon as I’ve cleaned up.”

“I’ll walk him to the stop and make sure he gets on, don’t wo-”

“Don’t tell me not to worry when you barreled into my brother and injured him!” Danny’s voice is an octave higher and Simon offers Markus an apologetic smile.

“Danny, please, it’s alright. Markus has been very kind, and I’ll be home soon okay?”

There’s a pause, a familiar lapse in sound and Simon knows it’s him trying to regain his composure. There’s a long exhale and Simon can hear some of the tension unwind from his body.

“Alright. You message me when you get on so I can wait for you at the stop, okay?”

“Okay Danny, I promise.” Simon vows, smiling. “Love you, I’ll be home soon.”

“Love you too.” He mutters, likely embarrassed by having an audience. He hangs up and Markus carefully slips the phone back into his pocket.

“Sorry about that, Danny’s very protective.” The apologetic smile is back on his face as Markus guides him to what he assumes is the staff room. He’s coaxed to sit down in a chair.

“He’s your brother, he’s right to be worried.” Markus’ voice sounds a little further away, and there’s sounds of cupboards opening and closing before he makes a sound of triumph. “Okay, looks like there’s some alcohol wipes in here and some bandaids which should do the trick. Can you show me your palms please?”

“Have you interacted with many blind people before?” Simon asks curiously as he does as he’s bid. “You’re used to verbally punctuating what you’re doing.”

“My dad’s pretty old and frail and his eyesight isn’t the greatest anymore.” Markus explains, and there’s the sharp scent of alcohol in the air. “I’ll clean your grazes now- this will sting a bit okay?”

“Okay.” Simon nods and a moment later there’s the cold-hot burn of the swab against his raw skin. “You said your father’s an artist?”

“Yeah, he’s a painter.” There’s pride in his tone. “He paints mainly on a large scale, and his use of colour itself is a medium. He uses colours like layers to tell a story.” It’s more than pride, it’s admiration and affection in his tone, and Simon feels a small smile tug on his lips.

“They must be beautiful.”

“No I don’t think so.” Markus hums thoughtfully, the sound of paper tearing carefully. “I’m applying the bandaids now, please hold still.”

“You don’t think your father’s works are beautiful?”

“His works are...emotional. They evoke feelings and each of them have a tale worked into the canvas. I suppose on a surface level they’re beautiful the way colourful paintings are aesthetically pleasing but I think they call to you in a way that’s more soulful than beautiful.” 

“Describe your favourite painting of his to me?” Simon encourages, and he figures Danny can wait just a little while longer.

“Oh, um, well-” a pause, perhaps a frown in his tone. “There’s this painting that means a lot to us. It’s not in our house anymore because he gave it as a gift to a good friend of his, but it’s important in more ways than one because I replicated the painting side by side with him so we could have a smaller copy in our house.” Another pause, the scrape of a chair as Markus takes a seat opposite him. “Imagine a landscape canvas, big enough it takes up a whole wall. It’s a closeup of a man’s face in the first third of the canvas. The strokes are made to mimic palette knife swatches, not brushstrokes so there’s a textural, almost exaggerated pixel quality to it. He has no eyes but he’s looking forward and the colours, the tones are cold blue and grey tones cut with reds and pinks."

"Half his face is nothing but black shadow that fades into the second and last third of the canvas and in those shadows are suggestions of a surveillance camera, of hands, of machines. On his right cheek and jaw is a brilliant slash of blue, almost like blood. It tells the story of a visionary, of a genius who seems cold and mechanical but all that means is he’s harnessed the chaos of the world, the reds and the pinks, and he’s forced the shadows, the dark greys and blacks, into creations of his own making. He doesn’t see with just his eyes, but he can envision such greatness with his mind.” 

He may be blind and unable to appreciate visual art but Simon enjoys music and when Markus talks, Simon realises, it’s like hearing music; his tone, his eloquence, his near breathless enthusiasm come together like a symphony able to sweep him off his feet. 

“Who owns the painting?”

“Elijah Kamski.” It all falls into place, and the name is the final puzzle piece.

“Your father is Carl Manfred.” Simon breathes, awestruck. “And you’re his son, Markus Manfred.”

“Oh, you know of his work?”

“Surely everyone in Detroit knows of Carl Manfred?” Simon laughs softly. “Not much fun being blind and going on field trips to the art museum, but my teacher always made the extra effort to try and include me. She described his paintings to me and though I don’t know what colours look like I can sort of picture in my head the enormity of his work.”

“You don’t know what colours look like.” Markus echoes and Simon knows that tone, it’s that tone when people pity him only it’s sort of not like pity, it’s sort of a genuine sadness as if Markus mourns the fact he can’t see the world the way he does.

“I don’t know what blue looks like. Or red.” A sheepish grin. “People say oh the sky is blue and that means nothing to me.”

“Colours are a spectrum, like music notes. Some sit cooler, some sit warmer the way some notes are higher and some are lower.” Markus says slowly and that,  _ that  _ Simon can understand. “Blue is cooler, so a little higher, and red is warmer so a little lower. But you can add blue to red to make it a little cooler and red to blue to make it a little warmer. You can add yellow- yellow is bright, like the feeling of the sun on your skin, but it can be gentle too like the sun just before dusk. Those three primaries make up every colour seen and unseen by the eye, the way notes are used to make music.”

“You’re giving Mrs Chapman a run for her money- she did her best when I was nine but she’s certainly got nothing on you.” He quips, and he realises he’s been smiling the entire time; his cheeks ache in a pleasing way.

“What if you had a fresh pair of eyes look at the art for you, and tell you what they see?” 

Simon doesn’t answer right away, savouring the sweet playfulness in Markus’ voice and oh it’s such sweet music to hear. 

“I’d tell them I’m free on Saturdays and they can pick me up outside Bellini’s.”

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  The painting Markus describes does indeed hang both [in Kamski's pool room](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c81e65d0f45c9ebe6cc82bd25bd24909/ed0cd2c74323e8ea-8a/s1280x1920/6ff2798fc0ca12dbad2791eabdb929ef9040f314.jpg), and [Carl's house.](https://66.media.tumblr.com/8ef2d0c2d5ef840955146ab9fbdda506/ed0cd2c74323e8ea-dd/s1280x1920/095612ab99ed70b01e365e3d57bed4941be1510e.jpg)  
> Sadly because of work this is probably the only prompt I'll finish for this challenge, but please [drop by and consider reblogging the Tumblr version?](https://archadianskies.tumblr.com/post/190893230967/what-if-you-had-a-fresh-pair-of-eyes)  
> 


End file.
